


All I Want for Christmas is You

by LuxKen27



Category: Kids Incorporated
Genre: Alternate Canon, Community: fandom_stocking, F/M, Female Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxKen27/pseuds/LuxKen27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Season 2.]  Mickey returns to Brooklyn for a surprise visit with his former bandmates – and Gloria.  A holiday sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/503585/chapters/884969">You’re the One That I Want</a>.  Written for GloriaFan, for the 2012 fandom_stocking holiday exchange on Dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas is You

**Author's Note:**

> Further author's notes can be found [here](http://luxken27.dreamwidth.org/729736.html).
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** The _Kids Incorporated_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1984 – 1993 Thomas Lynch/Gary Biller/MGM Television/20th Century Fox Home Entertainment/Disney Channel. Any resemblance to any person currently living or deceased is unintended (i.e., I am writing about the _characters_ , not the _actors_ who portray them). No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

It had been a long time since he’d stepped foot on that sidewalk.

So long, in fact, that he’d forgotten just how pushy and impatient his fellow New Yorkers could be. Mickey had ascended from the subway platform, only to make the mistake of stopping at the top of the stairs when he reached the surface. He was nearly bowled over by the sea of humanity that had followed him, pushing and shoving him into the side railing like he was an unsuspecting tourist.

 _Which I guess I am now_ , he mused as he straightened his jacket, venturing forward now that the crowd had dissipated. It felt so strange to be here again, in New York – in Brooklyn – just a couple of blocks from the P*lace. It had been six months since his family’s move to Connecticut, and he hadn’t been back to visit even once.

Until now.

He huddled into his coat as he measured his pace down the sidewalk, taking his time so that he might put his jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. The afternoon sky was overcast, the color of slate, threatening a rainstorm for sure – and maybe even snow. He fervently hoped that it wouldn’t snow. He was only there for the day, having come in on the train with his mother, who’d wanted to go Christmas shopping in the city. She’d been surprised, of course, when he’d asked to come along, until she learned why he wanted to accompany her. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to agree to let him go back to Brooklyn alone.

 _Even though I’m fifteen years old_ , he thought to himself, _and I’ll be driving, come spring._

Driving – that was another thing. What was a mostly needless skill in the city was a coveted rite of passage in Connecticut. His classmates were counting down the days until they could apply for their learner’s permits, and plotting strategies for gaining experience behind the wheel, preferably with older siblings in tow instead of parents. Growing up in the city, earning a driver’s license was something one did when they were older, if they had the time and the interest. It was so weird to be thrust into this other world, where people his age placed importance on such different things than he, himself, valued. It had certainly taken awhile to adjust.

But – he _had_ adjusted. He’d made friends, and had even started talking to a couple of them about forming a band. He missed his music, performing with other people, and was pretty excited about the idea of putting together a group again. Kids Incorporated had never strayed far from his mind; its success was something special and rare, and he’d felt privileged to be a part of it, even for a short time.

Still. It felt strange, going back to visit them. He’d kept in touch with his old bandmates, and was looking forward to seeing them again, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous about it, too. Writing letters was a whole different dimension from hanging out face-to-face. They had been a tight-knit group, once upon a time. And, though their vibe was still friendly, it was also…estranged.

He drew a breath as he turned that final corner, the P*lace’s neon-lit sign coming into view. He could feel his heart beginning to beat a little faster in his chest, and his hands turning clammy in the pockets of his coat. He’d never seen Kids Incorporated perform from any other vantage point than the stage. It was going to be so weird, he just _knew_ it. A knot of trepidation twisted in his stomach as he moved ever-closer to those once-familiar blue-framed double doors. At that moment, he couldn’t decide what he was most afraid of: seeing his old band perform…or seeing them with the person who had replaced him.

A few steps away, he hesitated, finding it difficult to even lift his gaze to peer through the glass-plated doors. As it turned out, he didn’t have to – a couple of middle-school aged kids left, the roar of the crowd inside following them through the door, nearly deafening to his ears. He looked up, and saw that the P*lace was packed, and almost immediately felt drawn inside.

He moved as if in a trance, squeezing through the door before it could close again, hanging back near the entrance as he gazed over the crowd. The front room’s lights had been dimmed, a bright white spotlight shining on center stage. He heard the low hum of a guitar start and peered through the crowd, and realized, with a jolt, that it was Stacy who was framed in the spotlight.

“People talking,” she sang, her voice clear and loud and vibrant as it washed over the hushed crowd, “and they’re saying that you’re leaving / so unhappy / with the way that you’ve been living, oh…”

“We always wish for money / we always wish for fame…” The other band members joined her for the bridge, moving forward from the shadows to line up beside her. He spotted Renee, Gloria, and the Kid off to one side, and smiled, his heart warming at the sight of them, his old friends. They were still bursting with energy, even though it appeared this was the finale of their afternoon show. And, indeed, as Stacy barreled on into the chorus, the namesake of the song – “Change,” by John Waite – his friends exploded into movement, in the same moment that the stage was flooded with light. The confetti canons went off, coating them with floating glitter, and the sight of it all brought warm memories pouring back into his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could feel himself up there, on stage with them, rocking out just like they used to.

A well-timed guitar riff started just then, and Mickey turned his gaze to the other side of the stage, curiosity and dread filling him as he eyed his replacement. It was a boy, pale-faced and dark-haired, who played with a precision well beyond his years. Even though he stood by himself on his side of the stage, he had such a presence that it didn’t feel off-balance.

All of the weirdness he’d expected – and more – coursed through him as he watched. Six months in (or less), and this guy looked like a natural up there, as if he’d been playing with the band for years. Stacy even shot him a cheeky smile as he drifted close, just as she used to do with him when they were on stage together. He felt a stab of jealousy, but tried to ignore it, sliding further into the shadows near the front doors of the P*lace.

The song finished just as strongly as it had started, earning the band a full and wild standing ovation. They gathered in the middle of the stage for a bow, before sharing a group hug and a range of excited smiles. It was the boy – the guitar player – who made the final announcements, thanking the crowd, suggesting they stop by the counter for one of Riley’s famous malteds, reminding them of their weekend concert the next evening. It all made Mickey feel like he was standing apart from himself, watching himself watching this kid do everything he used to, and the others just… _letting_ him.

And when Gloria slipped her arm around this other boy’s shoulders…it just became way too weird. He looked away, abandoning his spot in the shadows, and crossed through the exiting crowd of kids, settling himself at the counter.

He smiled, amused, as he watched Riley bustle about, taking orders, making change, scooping ice cream and mixing malts. Business was booming, as usual, and Riley’s cheeks were flushed with effort, but he moved with practiced ease between the freezer and the cash register. Finally, the after-concert rush ended, and Riley blew out a breath, turning back in Mickey’s direction.

He didn’t get far, stopping in his tracks when he realized who he was looking at. “Mickey?!” he sputtered incredulously. “Is that really you?”

Mickey grinned. “The one and only,” he confirmed, waving for him to come closer.

Riley did just the opposite, turning on his heels. “Hey, guys!” he called, gesturing to his former bandmates, who were still on stage. “Look who’s here!”

They looked, their expressions first wide with surprise, then breaking into happy smiles as they spotted him. “Mickey!” Stacy shrieked, jumping from the edge of the stage and streaming over to him, her arms already open to tackle him into a hug. Renee and the Kid were fast on her heels, and it was all he could to do stand up before they bowled him over with their eagerness.

“Guys, guys, calm down,” he laughed, doing his best to return their enthusiastic greetings. “It’s only me.”

“Only you?” Gloria drawled, strolling over with a cheerful smile. Mickey felt his heart stop as she approached him, reaching over their bandmates’ heads to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short, mister,” she teased.

He pulled her as close as he could, sliding his arms around her waist, his eyes slipping shut as he held her. “Gloria,” he breathed, feeling his skin flush and constrict as the warmth of her body mingled with his. “It’s so good to see you.”

She curled a hand into the hair at the back of his head, and he felt her smile against his cheek. “It’s good to see you, too,” she returned, drawing away, taking a good, long look at him.

He took the opportunity to do the same. She’d grown a few inches, now as tall as he, and he could look at her directly, meeting her gaze. She was smiling at him, her chocolate-brown eyes twinkling with mirth, her chestnut-colored curls swept back into an updo. She was beautiful, absolutely beautiful, practically taking his breath away even as he stood there.

It was as if no time had passed at all, as if the others had melted away, as if they were still standing with each other outside the P*lace as they had been all those months ago, on the edge of confessing their growing feelings for one another. Only this time, there was no bitterness – just sweet, unrequited, anticipated promise.

He’d expected this, or at least, a little of this – she was the reason he was standing there, after all. He’d missed all of his friends, yes, but he’d missed her the most. She was the one he’d written to most often; she was the one he’d nearly dialed a hundred times. She was the one he desperately wanted to see again, if only to find out if all these feelings still existed outside of his memories.

 _Oh yeah_ , he thought to himself, tracing every delicate feature of her face with his eyes, _this is real. This is – more than real._

It had _all_ come flooding back, spooking him just a little.

“ _Yoo-hoo_ ,” teased the Kid, his singsong tone breaking through Mickey’s reverie. “Are you two still with us?”

“I think you’ve missed a primo opportunity for that mistletoe-on-a-stick idea, Riley,” joked the new kid.

Gloria broke away from Mickey, letting him go as a blush burnished her cheeks. “You guys,” she sighed, making a big show of rolling her eyes at them. “You can’t tell me you aren’t just as happy to see Mickey as I am.”

Renee grinned at her, something wicked in her smile. “Actually,” she mused, “I think we _can_ say that, Gloria.” 

The Kid added a few kissy-noises, just to make their point crystal clear.

Mickey gave him a playful shoulder shove.

Mercifully, the new kid saved them from further awkwardness. “Listen, you guys,” he said, hefting a tray that Riley had been busy filling up with treats, “are we going to just stand here, or are we going to party?”

“Party!” Stacy cheered, throwing her fist in the air. She circled around to stand beside her new bandmate, awaiting further direction.

He nodded to a second tray on the counter, topped with bowls of chips and dip. “Why don’t you take that one, Stace, and come with me?” the boy suggested, indicating for her to follow him back stage.

“Okay!” She happily complied, balancing the tray carefully with both hands as she trailed off behind him.

Renee turned wide, pleading eyes to Mickey and tugged at his head. “Yeah, Mickey! You should come to our Christmas party!” she suggested. “Please?”

The Kid took his other hand, and the two of them began pulling him towards the stage. “I don’t know, guys,” Mickey hedged. “I didn’t mean to hold up your party.” He glanced back at Gloria, a soft smile rising to his lips. “I just wanted to come by and say hi.”

She smiled back, resting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him forward. “But this is perfect,” she contended. “You started the band – it’s the least you could do to come to our annual Christmas party!”

“But I didn’t bring a gift,” he protested.

Gloria squeezed his shoulders. “So _you’ll_ be our gift,” she replied warmly. “I know I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

Every nerve in his body jangled on end as he absorbed her flirtatious response. “All right, all right,” he relented, heaving an exaggerated sigh and allowing the Kid and Renee to lead him forward. “How could I say no to that?”

~*~

Time passed by in a flash. Before he realized it, Mickey found himself alone with Gloria and Riley, helping them clean up the remnants of the party. Though he wasn’t the neatest person in the world – and his least favorite chore had always been cleaning up after dinner – somehow, he didn’t mind it now. He wandered around the room, picking up half-empty paper plates and wads of wrapping paper, circling back around to put them in the gigantic black trash bag that Gloria was holding. Across the way, Riley swept up the glittery confetti, crepe paper, garland, and pine needles which had more than served their purpose as holiday party decorations.

“Well, that was…interesting,” Mickey observed, plucking at the half-deflated balloons that were beginning to drift down from the ceiling.

Gloria smiled as she watched him, drifting closer to him and wiping the clutter from the large table in the middle of the room into her bag. “You said yourself that we really know how to throw a party,” she reminded him. “Didn’t you have fun?”

He fought the flush that rose up the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he assured her. “It was just…well, a little weird. Meeting the new guy and all,” he hastened to add, not wanting her to think that she had contributed to his conflicting feelings about the afternoon.

Gloria nodded. “What do you think of Ryan?” she asked casually, dropping the garbage bag as she started clearing off Riley’s trays of treats. There were still a few pieces of cake left, but everything else had more or less been completely destroyed by the hungry crowd.

Mickey shrugged. “He’s pretty cool,” he answered noncommittally, though he actually felt otherwise. Ryan was a nice enough guy, he supposed, but there was just something about him that – _bothered_ Mickey. He wasn’t sure if it was the very obvious fact that he was his replacement in the band, or if it was just how quickly he’d ingratiated himself with the friends it had taken Mickey a lot longer to get close to. Or maybe it was just the fact that he just had a rather strange personality.

“It’s a miracle we found him when we did,” Gloria mentioned with a sigh, stealing a taste of frosting from her thumb. “We were really running out of options, trying to figure out how we were going to replace you.”

Mickey bowed his head, his lips thinning into a grim line. “Yeah, I can imagine,” he muttered. He hadn’t wanted to leave them, but what choice did he have? His relationship with his parents had yet to fully mend from the blowout fight that had erupted when his father had informed him of their move.

He startled when he looked up, catching Gloria’s knowing look from across the way. “They really do miss you,” she assured him softly. “Ryan’s great, in his own way, but he’s not _you_.”

He gave her a wry smile. “They certainly have a funny way of showing it,” he mused. Though they had initially surrounded him, competing with each other to be the first, the loudest, the most excited to fill him in on all of their adventures since his departure, eventually Renee, Stacy, and the Kid had drifted away, becoming engaged in the other frivolities of the party.

Gloria picked up the garbage bag again and crossed the room towards him. “I didn’t mean to monopolize your time,” she apologized coyly, holding the bag out so that he could fill it with the trash he’d collected.

His smile turned soft and genuine. “I didn’t mind,” he assured her. And, truly, he hadn’t – when he’d finally managed to capture her attention away from the others, he’d had the whole of it. They’d spent most of the night laughing and talking and dancing together, and for him, it was just like stepping back in time. He’d loved every minute of it, and had been so reluctant to leave her… Hence, clean-up duty.

And, perhaps even better, it seemed she was just as intensely interested in him as he was in her. There was no hesitation in her smiles, her flirtation, or the way she touched him – brushing against him as they stood together, holding him in her arms when they danced. The more time they spent together, the more convinced he became that _she_ was feeling all of those old familiar feelings, too, and that his crazy gamble of just showing up again out of the blue had paid off.

For a moment, they stood in awkward silence, staring at each other.

“Mickey,” she started, just as he said, “Gloria – ”

They laughed. “You go first,” Mickey offered, pulling the garbage bag from her grip.

“All right,” she nodded, twisting her hands together. “Mickey – I have to tell you something.”

His heart picked up speed, his breath constricting in his chest as he gazed at her. “Yes?” he prompted softly.

She opened her mouth to continue, but Riley, who’d taken the trays of food back up front, stuck his head through the garish pink door, twirling a dish towel in his hands. “Hey, you guys, why don’t you head on out?” he offered. “I can take it from here.”

The two of them turned to look at him. “Are you sure, Riley?” Gloria questioned skeptically, reluctant to leave their beloved soda jerk with such a mess.

“I’m sure,” Riley nodded, before sending a very pointed look in Mickey’s direction. “Uh, Mick – your mom called, asked if you were still around.”

Mickey glanced at his watch. “Damn!” he swore under his breath, unable to believe just how late it’d gotten. Time truly had slipped away from him – it was already five-thirty, and he’d promised to meet his mother at Port Authority to catch the six o’clock train back to Connecticut.

He sent a sheepish, apologetic look to Gloria. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but I really have to go.”

“Go?” she echoed, as if the word wasn’t quite sinking in.

He nodded. “I’m only here for the day,” he explained.

Her expression was unreadable for a fleeting moment before she grabbed hold of his hand, giving it a surprisingly tight squeeze. “C’mon, then,” she said, “let me walk with you.”

He nodded, letting her pull him through the door, stopping only to pick up their coats and send a pair of hapless waves back to Riley as they hurried through the blue-framed double glass doors of the P*lace. They broke apart only long enough to don their jackets; Gloria took his hand again without looking at him, her expression turning somber as they headed for the subway station, fighting against the now-gusty wind.

Mickey clutched her hand tightly, shooting fleeting glances at her as they walked. She’d been so bubbly and talkative that whole afternoon, only to now suddenly clam up. A knot of trepidation twisted at his core as he regarded her, suddenly very wary of what she’d wanted to tell him. It took him most of the trip to the subway stop to gather the courage to bring it up again.

They were a block away when he finally broke the silence. “You – wanted to tell me something?” he prompted gently, tugging gently on her hand to bring her out of her reverie.

She slowed to a stop. “Yeah,” she sighed, curling her fingers around his as she looked down at their joined hands. A flush coated her cheeks as she struggled with her words. “I’m – not sure how to say this to you,” she admitted in an embarrassed rush.

He swallowed hard, now nearly certain he didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say. “You can tell me anything,” he assured her. “Just – say it, straight out.”

“Okay,” she murmured, nodding her head as she traced the nail of her thumb down the lengths of his fingers. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’ve met someone.”

His eyes fell closed, his breath constricting painfully in his chest as her words sliced straight through him. Why was she telling him this? Why _now_ , after the amazing and attentive afternoon they’d spent together, as if no time had passed, and nothing had changed between them?

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” she said mournfully, reaching out to touch him, curling her hand around the base of his neck. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just…did.”

He nodded, turning away from her. “I understand,” he replied, blinking rapidly, trying to dislodge his heart from his throat.

She shook her head, wrapping her free arm around him, closing the gap between them. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered, her breath warm against the shell of his hear. “I still care about you, Mickey – a lot.” She sniffled. “That’s why – I couldn’t let you leave without telling you the truth.”

He accepted her embrace, returning it in kind, circling his arms around her waist and holding her close. “I understand,” he said again, pushing the words out of his throat, as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever have to say. “We never promised anything to each other.” He sighed. “I guess this is the reason why.”

For a moment, they simply held each other, but all too soon, it became too painful for him. He broke away abruptly, tears far too close to falling for his liking. “I should go,” he choked out, unable to complete disguise the abject hurt in his tone. “It was – really nice to see you again, Gloria.”

He turned away from her, but she caught him before he could escape, gripping the back of his coat sleeve. “Mickey, wait,” she pleaded. She shifted, closing her hand around his elbow. “Don’t leave it like this – please, don’t leave upset with me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not upset with you,” he assured her. _Only with myself_ , he added silently, unable to stop himself from wondering: maybe if he _had_ made those calls, or written more often – would she have waited for him, as he’d waited for her?

But how was that fair? He hadn’t even realized himself that he had been waiting for her until that very afternoon. He’d unconsciously set aside this part of his life, content with letting her have his heart, even if she didn’t know it. And if she hadn’t – how could he even ask it of her, to hold onto memories of him, to let these feelings languish, especially if someone else – someone _close_ – was showing interest in her?

He turned to look at her, offering a wavering smile. “I’m _not_ ,” he reiterated, “I swear it.” He sighed, brushing her hair from her brow with his free hand. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Forever,” she vowed with a firm nod.

A sharp, horrid thought sliced through his brain, the words forming on his tongue before he could stop them. “It’s not Ryan, is it?”

She laughed. “No,” she told him, tugging playfully on his elbow. “You were the only exception to that rule.” She paused, as if debating with herself about whether or not to continue. “His name is Brad – he’s in one of my classes at school. I…don’t think you know him.”

He nodded, swallowing hard again as he threaded his fingers through the flyaway strands of her hair at her temple. “He’s a lucky guy,” he said quietly.

Her eyes softened as she gazed at him. “Mickey,” she breathed, sweeping forward, pressing an impulsive kiss to his cheek.

That had been surprising enough for him; true shock coursed down his spine a moment later when she shifted, her lips meeting his, warm and soft and full. This kiss sent a jolt of electricity straight through him, arresting him where he stood, though it only lasted for a fleeting moment.

When he opened his eyes in the aftermath, he realized she was blushing, her breath short and sharp in her chest, and briefly, he wondered if she’d meant to do that.

Tiny white flakes dotted her hair, and he looked up, realizing that it had started to snow. _A Christmas miracle_ , he mused, knowing just how rare it was for it to snow in the city this close to the holiday.

“I’ll see you, Mickey,” Gloria said, drawing his attention back down to her. “Keep in touch, okay?”

He nodded, his lips still tingling as he eyed her. “Always,” he promised. 

Because if there was even a chance that things would eventually work out between them, then he’d never give up hope.


End file.
